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THOIVIAS 

SOME CURRENT FOLK-SONGS 
OF THE NEGRO 




THE LIBRARY 

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THE UNIVERSITY 

OF CALIFORNIA 

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SOME 

CURRENT FOLK-SONGS 

OF THE NEGRO 



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BY 



WILL H. THOMAS 



TEXAS FOLK-LORE SOCIETY 

AUSTIN, TEXAS 



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SOME CURRENT FOLK-SONGS 
OF THE NEGRO 



BY 



W. H. THOMAS, College Station, Texas 



Read before the Fo Ik-Lore Society of Texas, 1912 



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PUBLISHED BY THE FOLK-LORE SOCIETY OF TEXAS 



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WILL THOMAS AND THE TEXAS FOLK-LORE SOCIETY 

Now that this brochure is beiag reprinted by the Texas Folk- 
Lore Society, I take the opportunity to say a word concerning its 
author and its history. 

Although not a numbered publication. Some Current Folk- 
songs of the Negro (1912) was the first item produced by the Texas 
Folk-Lore Society. At the time dues to the Society were two-bits 
a year — not enough to allow a very extensive publication. Number 
I (now reprinted under the title of Round the Levee) was not 
issued until 1916; then it was seven more years before another 
volume was issued, since which time, 1923, the Society has sent 
out a book annually to its members. The credit for initiating the 
Society's policy of recording the lore of Texas and the Southwest 
belongs to Will H. Thomas. 

At the time his pamphlet was issued, he was president of the 
organization, to which office he was elected again in 1923. His 
idea was that people who work with folk-lore should not only col- 
lect it but interpret it and also enjoy it. This view is expressed 
in his delightful essay on "The Decline and Decadence of Folk 
Metaphor," in Publications Number II (Coffee in the Gourd) of the 
Society. 

The view is thoroughly representative of the man, for Will 
Thomas was a vigorous, sane man with a vigorous, sane mind. He 
had a sense of humor and, therefore, a sense of the fitness of 
things. For nearly thirty years he taught English in the Agricul- 
tural and Mechanical College of Texas, and I have often wished 
k- that more professors of English in the colleges and universities 
m over the country saw into the shams and futilities and sheer non- 
>» sense that passes for "scholarship" as thoroughly as he saw into 
^ them. Yet he was tolerant. He was a salt-of-the-earth kind of man. 
£ He was born of the best of old-tim<. Texas atock on a farm in 

"^ Fayette County, January 11, 1880; he got his collegiate training 
at Austin College, Sherman, and the University of Texas and then 
^ took his Master's degree at Columbia University. He was co-editor, 
^ with Stewart Morgan, of two volumes of essays designed for col- 
^ legians. He died March 1, 193 5. Gates Thomas, Professor of 
n English in Southwestern State Teachers College at San Marcos, who 
has done notable work in Negro folk songs and who is one of the 
nestors and pillars of the Texas Folk-Lore Society, is his brother. 

ga J. FRANK DOBIE 

5 c 

>G Austin, Texas 

«fe April, 1936 

^ CO 



4J21(/63 



SOME CURRENT FOLK-SONGS OF THE NEGRO 
AND THEIR ECONOMIC INTERPRETATION. 

BY W. H. THOMAS, COLLEGE STATION, TEXAS. 

Mr. President, Members of the Folk-Lore Society, Ladies and- 
Gentlemen: 

I should first like to say a word as to why I have been given the 
honor of addressing this meeting. Mr, Lomax is solely to blame 
for that. A short while after this society was organized, Mr. 
Lomax approached me one day while I was holding an examina- 
tion and asked me to join the society and to make a study of the 
^egro songs. He did so, no doubt, out of a knowledge of the fact 
that as I had lived all by life in a part of the State where the 
y^groes are thick, and as I v/as then devoting my summers to 
active farming where^/^^groes were employed, I would, therefore, 
have an excellent opportunity for studying the/^gro and his 
songs, as the geologist would say, in situ. 

You will notice tha'tj I have taken as my title, "Some Current 
Folk-Songs of th^' Negro and Their Economic Interpretation." 
Now it is somewhat^misleading at this day and time to speak of 
the negro as a "folk." Tliat word seems to me to be applicable 
only to a people living in an industry in which economic function 
has not been specialized. So it would be more accurate to speak 
of "negro class lore." The class that I am treating of is the 
semi-rural proletariat. So far as my observation goes, the prop- 
erty-holding negro never sings. You see, projjerty lends respecta- 
bility, and respectability is too great a burden for any literature 
to bear, even our own. Although we generally think of beliefs, 
customs, and practices, when we hear the word "folk-lore" used, 
I believe all treatises on tlic subject recognize songs, sayings, ])al- 
lads, and arts of all kinds as proper divisions of the subject. 
So a collection and study of the following songs is certainly not 
out of place on a program got up by this society. 

Now just one word more under this head. I have found it very 
difficult to keep separate and distinct the study of folk-lore and 
the study of folk-psychology. The latter has always been ex- 



tremely interesting to me ; hence I can't refrain from sharing with 
you the two following instances: A negro girl was once attend- 
ing a protracted meeting when she "got religion" and went ofE 
into a deep swoon, which lasted for two whole days, no food or 
drink being taken in the meantime. A negro explained to me as 
follows: "Now when that nigger comes to, if she's been pos- 
sumin', she sho' will be hungry ; but if she hasn't been possumin', 
it will be just the same as if she had been eatin' all the time." 
The other instance is that of an old negro who just before he died 
had been lucky enough to join a burial association which guar- 
anteed to its members a relatively elaborate interment. So, when 
this old negro died, the undertaker dressed him out in a nice 
black suit, patent leather shoes, laundered shirt and collar, and 
all that. His daughter, in relating the incident after the funeral, 
said : "Bless your life, when they put Pappy in that coffin, he 
looked so fine that he just had to open his eyes and look at his 
self." 

I imagine that folk-lore appeals differently to different individ- 
uals according to what intellectual or cultural interest predominates 
their beings. I suppose that the first interest in folk-lore was 
that of the antiquarian. Then came the interest of the linguist 
and the literateur. But it seems to me that if the pursuit of 
folk-lore is to be thoroughly worth while to-day the interest must 
above all be psychological and sociological. At least these are my 
interests in the subject. For instance, take that piece of well 
known folk-lore — the belief that by hanging a dead snake on a 
barbed wire fence — one can induce rain in a time of drought. I 
would give almost anything to know just how the two ideas "hang- 
ing a snake on a fence" and "raining" were ever associated. But 
I can perhaps still better illustrate my attitude by relating a piece 
of Herbert Spencerian lore. Herbert Spencer tells in his autobi- 
ography of this incident that he met with while on one of his 
annual trips to Scotland. The house at which he was a guest 
contained a room which bore the reputation of being haunted. It 
was in this room that Herbert Spencer was asked to sleep. So he 
did and lay awake most of the night, though not out of fear that the 
ghost would choose that particulaj- night to pay a visit, but out of 
a philosophical curiosity to figure out the origin of such a "fool" 
belief. 



-5— 

In reference to these songs, wlien I say that I am interested iu 
a study of origins, I do not mean the origin of any particular 
song, but the origin of the songs as a social phenomenon. Or to 
put it interrogatively, why do the members of this particular class 
sing, and why do their songs contain the thouglits that they do ? • 

I believe it is pretty generally agreed today that any well- 

I defined period of literature is merely the reflection of some great 
' economic change. I notice that the critics have begun to speak 

of Victorian literature as merely the ornament of nineteeth cen- 
tury prosperity — the prosperity that was incident to the utilization 
of steam as motive power. 

Now a great cliange has come into the negro's economic life 
within the past two decades. Its causes have been two. He has 
come into competition with the Euroj>ean immigrant, whose stay- 
ing qualities are much greater than his; and agriculture has been 
changing from a feudalistic to a capitalistic basis, which requires 
a greater technical ability than the negro possesses. The result 
is that he is being steadily pushed into the less inviting and less 
secure occupations. To go' into the intricacies of my thesis would 
be to abuse the privilege of the program; so I shall have to con- 

II tent myself with merely stating it. The negro, then, sings because | 
ij he is losing his economic foothold. This economic insecurity has ' 

interfered most seriously with those two primal necessities — work 
and love — and you will notice that the thoughts in all these songs 

cluster around these two ideas. 

So much for the interpretation; now for the appreciation. It 
has been my experience that where a knowledge of the negro's 
every day, or rather every-night, life is lacking, the appreciation 
of these songs is never very keen. Hence, in order to make it cer- 
tain that you will appreciate these songs, I deem it necessary to 
try to acquaint you with the life of one of the "songsters." Other- 
wise I am afraid that too many of you will look upon these songs 
as absolutely puerile. Eemember that a greater man than you 
or I once declared the ancient ballads to l)e without merit and also 
maintained that he could write, on the spur of the moment, a 
stanza that was just as good and that contained just as much 
meaning. Whereupon, being challenged he sat down and wrote: 

"1 put my hat upon my head and went into the Strand, 
And tiiere I met another man with his hat in his hand." 



J 



— 6— 

The colored semi-rural proletarian, then — how shall I describe 
him so that you may see him in your mind's eye, as I read these 
songs? I don't know how many of you are already acquainted 
with him, but, if any of you have ever tried to employ him profit- 
ably, I am sure you will never forget him. Perhaps I can picture 
him best by using the method of contrast. Let us follow one as 
he works with a white man, the latter, of course, being boss. We 
shall start with the morning. 

The white man rises early and eats his breakfast. My pro- 
letarian doesn't rise at all for the chances are that he has never 
gone to bed. At noon they "knock off." While the white man is 
preparing to eat his lunch, the "nigger' has already done so and 
is up in the bed of a wagon or on a plank underneath a tree fast 
asleep, usually with his head in the sun. At nightfall, the white 
man eats supper and spends the evening reading or with his fam- 
ily. Not so my proletarian. He generally borrows thirty-five 
cents from the white man, steps out the back gate, gives a shrill 
whistle or two, and allows how he believes he'll "step off a piece 
to-night." 

As I have not been on the farm much for the last two years. 
I have been unable to use the Boswellian method of recording these 
songs but have had to depend mostly on memory. The result is 
that some of them are not complete and some may not be textually 
correct. Of course the collection is not anything like an ex- 
haustive one. 

If you consider these songs as the negro's literature, you will 
notice some striking parallels between its history and that of Eng- 
lish literature. As all of you know, English literature for sev- 
eral centuries was little more than paraphrases of various parts of 
the Bible. The first songs I shall read you are clearly not indi- 
genous but are merely revamping the Biblical incidents and reflec- 
v^Jions of the sect disputes of the whites. The first song here pre- 
sented is one that I heard twenty years ago as it was sung on the 
banks of a creek at a "big baptizing." It is entitled: 

TELL ALL THE MEMBERS I'M A NEW BORN. 

I went to the valley on a cloudy day. 

good Lord! 
My soul got so happy that I couldn't get away. 



Chorus. 
Tell all the members I'm a new-born, 
I'm a new-born, I'm a new-born, 
O Lord! 

I'm a new-born baby, born in the manger, 
Tell all the members I'm a new-born. 

Read the Scriptures, I am told, 

Read about the garment Achan stole. 

Chorus. 
Away over yonder in the harvest fields, 

O good Lord! 
Angels working with the chariot wheels. 

Chorus. 
Away over yonder, got nothing to do, 

good Lord! 
But to walk about Heaven and shout Halloo. 

Chorus. 

I'm so glad, I don't know what about, 

good Lord! 
Sprinkling and pourings done played out. 

Chorus. 
Here are two more of the same kind : 

PREACHING IN THE WILDERNESS. 

Daniel in that lion's den. 
He called God A'mighty for to be his friend; 
Read a little further, 'bout the latter clause: 
The angel locked them lions' jaws. 

Refrain. 
Oh, Daniel, hallelujah; 
Oh, Daniel, preaching in that wilderness. 

Old man Adam, never been out; 

Devil get in him, he'll jump up and shout : 

He'll shout till he give a poor sister a blow. 

Then he'll stop right still and he'll shout no more. 

Refrain. 

P's for peter; in^his word 

He tells us all not to judge; 

Read a little further and you'll find it there, 

I knows the tree by the fruit it bear. 

Refrain. 



— 8— 

SAVE ME FROM SINKING DOWN. 

Seven stars in his right hand, 

Save me from sinking down. 
All stars move at his command, 

Save me from sinking down. 

Refrain. 
Oh, my Lord, save me from sinking down. 

John was a Baptist, so am I, 

Save me from sinking down. 
And he heard poor Israel's cry. 

Save us from sinking down. 

The following is only a snatch, but it is enough to show that 
the economic factor was not 3'et predominant. In it we still see 
traces of the Bible's influence: 

Lord, sinner, you got to die. 

It may be to-day or to- morrow. 
You can't tell the minute or the hour, 
But, sinner, you've got to die. 
Refrain. 

We now come to songs originated by the present generation of 
negroes. They all deal with work and love. The following might 
be entitled : 

THE SONG OF THE FORTUNATE ONE. ^ 

The reason why I don't work so hard, 

I got a gal in the white folks' yard; 

And every night about half past eight, 

I steps in through the white man's gate; 

And she brings the butter, and the bread, and the lard; 

That's the reason why I don't work so hard. 

The next I have termed the "Skinner's Song." Skinner is the 
vernacular for teamster. The negro seldom carries a watch, but 
still uses the sun as a chronometer; a watch perhaps would be too 
suggestive of regularity. Picture to yourself several negroes work- 
ing on a levee as teamsters. About five o'clock you would hear 
this: 

1 lookt at the sun and the sun lookt high; 
I lookt at the Cap'n and he wunk his eye; 
And be wunk his eye, and he wunlc his eye, 
I lookt at the Cap'n and he wunk his eye. 



— 9— 

I lookt at the sun and the sun lookt red; 
I lookt at the Cap'n and he turned his head; 
And he turned his head, and he turned his head, 
I lookt at the Cap'n and he turned his head. 

The negro occasionally practices introspection. When he does, 
you are likelv to hear something like this: 

White folks are all time bragging, j. 

Lord, Lord, Lord, 
'Bout a nigger ain't nothing but waggin, 

Lord, Lord, Lord. 

Or, 

White folks goes to college; niggers to the field; 

White folks learn to read and write; niggers learn to steal. 

Or, 

Beauty's skin deep, but ugly's to tlie bone. 
Beauty soon fades, but ugly holds its own. 

The following is the only song in which I think I detect insin- 
cerity. J^ow the negro may have periods of despondency, but 1 
have never been able to detect them. 

THE RAILROAD BLUES. 

I got the blues, but I haven't got the fare, 
I got the blues, but I haven't got the fare. 

I got the blues, but I am too damn'd mean to cry. 

Some folks say the rolling blues ain't bad; 

Well, it must not 'a' teen the blues my baby had. 

Oh! where was you when the rolling mill burned down? 
On the levee camp about fifteen miles from town 

My mother's dead, my sister's gone astray, 
And that is why this poor boy is here to-day. 

If any of you have high ideas about the universal sacred- 
ness of domestic ties, prepare to shed them now. It has often 
been said that the negro is a backward race. But this is not true. 
In fact, he is very forward. He had invented trial marriage be- 
fore sociology was a science. 

The following songs are only too realistic: 



—10— 

FIEST. 

I dreamt last night I was walking around, 

I met that nigger and I knocked her down; 

I knocked her down and I started to run, 

Till the sheriff done stopped me with his Gatling gun. 

I made a good run, but I run too slow, 

He landed me over in the Jericho; 

I started to run off down the track. 

But they put me on the train and brought me back. 

SECOND. 

Says, when I die. 

Bury me in black, 
For if you love that of woman of mine, 

I'll come a sneakin' back; 
For if you love that woman of mine, 

I'll come a sneakin' back. 

THIRD. 

If you don't quit monkeying with my Lulu, 

I'll tell you what I'll do; 
I'll fling around your heart with my razor ; 

I'll shoot you through and through. 

That the negro's esthetic nature may be improving is indicated 
by the following song. For tremendousness of comparison, I know 
nothing to equal it. It is entitled: 

THE BROWN-SKINNED WOMAN. 

A brown-skinned woman and she's chocolate to the bone. 
A brown-skinned woman and she smells like toilet soap. 
A black-skinned woman and she smells like a billy goat. 
A brown-skinned woman makes a freight train slip and slide. 
A brown-skinned woman makes an engine stop and blow. 
A brown-skinned woman makes a bulldog break his chain. 
A brown-skinned woman makes a preacher lay his Bible down. 
I married a woman ; she was even tailor made. 

You will find plenty of economics in the following song. The 
present-day negro early made that most fatal of all discoveries: 
namely, that a man can really live in this world without working. 
Hence his l)eau ideal is the gamliler, and his hUe noir is the county 
jail or the penitentiary. . 



-11- 



THE GAMBLER'S PANTS. 

What kind of pants does a gambler wear? 
Great big stripes, cost nine a pair. 

JACK O' DIAMONDS. 

Jack o' Diamonds, Jack o' Diamonds, 
Jack o' Diamonds is a hard card to roll. 

Says, whenever I gets in jail. 
Jack o' Diamonds goes my bail; 
And I never. Lord, I never, 
Lord, I never was so hard up before. 

You may work me in the winter, 

You may work me in the fall ; , 

I'll get e-ven, I'll get even, 

I'll get even through that long summer's day. 

Jack o' Diamonds took my money, 
And the piker got my clothes; 
And I ne-e-ver, and I ne-e-ver, 
Lord, I never was so hard run before. 

Says, whenever I gets in jail, 

I'se got a Cap'n goes my bail; 

And a Lu-u-la, and a Lu-u-la, 

And a Lulu that's a hard-working chile. 

TO HUNTSVILLE. 

The jurymen found me guilty, the judge he did say: 

"This man's convicted to Huntsville, poor boy. 
For ten long years to stay. 

My mammy said, "It's a pity." My woman she did say: 

"They're taking my man to Huntsville, poor boy, 
For ten long years to stay." 

Upon that station platform we all stood waiting that day. 

Awaiting that train for Huntsville, poor boy, 
For ten long years to stay. 

The train ran into the station, the sheriff he did say: 

"Get on this train for Huntsville, poor boy, 
For ten long years to stay." 

Now, if you see my Lula, please tell her for me, 

I've done quit drinking and gambling, poor boy. 
And getting on my sprees. 

421063 



-12- 



DON'T LET YOUR WATCH RUN DOWN, CAP'N. 

Working on the section, dollar and a half a day, 

Working for my Lula ; getting more than jiay, Cap'n, 
Getting more than pay. 

Working on the railroad, mud up to my knees. 

Working for my Lula; she's a hard old girl to please, Cap'n, 

She's a hard girl to please. 

So don't let your watch run down, Cap'n, 
Don't let your watch run down. 

BABY, TAKE A LOOK AT ME. 

I went to the jail house and fell on my knees. 

The first thing I noticed was a big pan of peas. 

The peas was hard and the bacon was fat; 

Says, your oughter seen the niggers that was grabbin' at that. 

Refrain. 
Oh, Lord, Baby, take a look at me! 

Brandy, whisky. Devil's Island gin, 

Doctor said it would kill him, but he didn't tell him when. 

Refrain. 
Oh, Lord, Baby, take a look at me! 

DON'T YOU LEAVE ME HERE. 

Don't you leave me here, don't you leave me here, 
For if you leave me here, babe, they'll arrest me sure. 
They'll arrest me sure. 
For if you leave me here, babe, they'll arrest me sure. 

Don't leave me here, don't leave me here. 

For if you leave me here, you'll leave a dime for beer. 

Why don't you be like me, wliy don't you be like me? 
Quit drinking whisky, babe, let the cocaine be. 

It's a mean man that won't treat his woman right. 

The following is a tragedy in nine acts: 

FRANKIE. 

Frankie was a good girl, as everybody knows. 

She paid a hundred dollars for Albert a suit of clothes; 

He was her man, babe, but she shot him down. 



—13— 

Frankie went to the bar-keeper's to get a bottle of beer; 
She says to the bar-keeper: "Has my living babe been here?" 
He was her man, balje, but he done lier wrong. 

Tlie bar-keeper says to Frankie: "I ain't going to tell you no lie, 
Albert passed 'long here walking about an hour ago with a nigger named 

Alkali." 
He was her man. babe, but he done her wrong. 

Frankie went to Albert's house; she didn't go for fun; 
For, underneath her apron was a blue-barrel 41. 
He was her man, babe, but he done her wrong. 

When Frankie go*- to Albert's house, she didn't say a word. 
But she cut down upon poor Albert just like he was a bird. 
He was her man, babe, but she shot him down. 

When Frankie left Albert's house, she lit out in a run, 
For, underneath her apron was a smoking 41. 
He was her man, babe, but he done her wrong. 

"Roll me over, doctor, roll me over slow, 

Cause, when you rolls me over, them bullets hurt me so; 

I was her man, babe, but she shot me down." 

Frankie went to the church house and fell upon her knees. 
Crying "Lord 'a' mercy, won't you give my heart some ease? 
He was my man. babe, but I shot him down." 

Rubber-tired buggy, decorated hack. 

They took him to the graveyard, but they couldn't bring him back. 

He was her man, babe, but he done her wrong. 

And, once more, the female of the species was more deadly than 
the male. 



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